Whispered Tales

These green birds of heaven
These children of Eve and Adam
As the paradise bloom in its awake
The old sufferings flows in its lake
The sight of moments and joy stained
As we let them through the ordeals framed
Subjected we have to our ruthless demise
The trampled sigh as the innocence cries
Now only the muted thoughts in seasons dry
Like the old sketches from the painter’s sky
The broken hearts and countless dreams
The whispered tales in muffled screams….


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